


The Air That I Breathe

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: The Road We Never Drove On [9]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a continuation of "This Love", so go read that first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Air That I Breathe

                Our first night back on stage is the most painful thing I’ve ever done on my life. It’s painful to play a woman falling in love with a man, when I love the person playing that man and am desperately trying to get over it. When just last night, I told him to forget about me.

                We go a week trying our best to brush past one another. We smile and nod and ask “How’s your day been,” for the sake of appearing at least semi-normal.

                And then, after the show one night, I go out with Jason. I’d been meaning to make plans with him for some time, and finally our schedules work out in our favor and he comes and meets me.

                The date goes well. I like him and he likes me and I return to my flat horribly late.

                Seeing David at the theatre that night hurts even more. During the scene where Benedick is trying to comfort Beatrice, it’s all I can do not to push him away because he’s holding me so close. I know he’s doing absolutely nothing different, that his performance is like every other, but his eyes are so vulnerable and I want that vulnerability gone. I need it gone.

                After the show, but before we go out to the stage door, he comes to my room. I’m about to tell him to leave, but I realize that he’s not here to try to reconcile. He’s glaring at me. David doesn’t glare at me. I don’t know quite what to make of it.

                 “What was that, Catherine? Why were you fighting me so hard tonight?”

                “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look away, strolling through my dressing room and flicking through my belongings. Because rifling between the same two extra sets of clothing over and over is preferable if it means I can avoid holding his gaze.

                He laughs, and it’s all I can do to keep from turning to face him. “Come now, Catherine. I’m trying to be a grown-up about this, so it’s your turn. What’s going on?”

                “I’m just tired, David, nothing more.” My eyes widen as I realize the implications of the sentence, pointing back to when I made him leave my flat, and I spin around to see that he’s trying to decipher what I want him to get from it. “I just mean that I… well, I had a date last night, it went later than I expected and I didn’t get much sleep. So I’m tired.”

                “Oh.” He clears his throat, uncomfortable. “I see.”

                The implications of _that_ aren’t the best either, but I feel a strange sort of delight at watching him squirm all because of the late date I had last night. “So it was just that. Really. If I did something differently… I just need to go home and get a good night’s rest.”

                It doesn’t surprise me that he believes this. My performance is so spectacular, I almost believe myself.

                So he shrugs, and I graciously thank him for being concerned, and he tells me that we’ll see each other soon outside.

                But when we meet in the hallway on our way to the door, he’s looking at me coldly again. I don’t even have time to mouth, “What?” before he’s plastering on a huge grin and running outside.

                I rush through the crowd a little bit, trying to get done before David so that we’re not going back in at the same time. Because then he’ll have all the more opportunity to yell at me for whatever subtext he read too far into.

                And I do finish, long before him. When I’m in my dressing room, I sit and try my hardest to look occupied because for the first time ever, I know that he’s certainly coming.

                David no longer looks frustrated; he’s clearly angry. I see him in the mirror, but I try to pretend that I don’t notice him in my doorway.

                He doesn’t wait for me to notice him, so it hardly matters. “You had a date with Jason.”

                “Yes. Why does it matter? I’m allowed to go on dates.”

                “Is he the reason you ended things with me? Met an attractive guy with no connection to me and you wanted to have some fun?”

                The nerve of him! There is so much wrong with what he said that I have no idea what to shout at him first—because if I open my mouth to speak, I _will_ be shouting. There is not a single part of his statement that’s telling me I shouldn’t kick him out of the room and forbid him to ever return.

                “What right do you have to assume any of that?” I say at last. I’m still not looking in his direction, because if I do I feel like I might have to give into the desperate urge to punch him in his perfect face.

                “You’re not denying any of it.”

                I jump out of my chair and stride over to David. We stand, inches apart. I don’t know if he’s ever made me this mad. Normally, my anger with him starts to decay almost as soon as it shows up, but this time... This time, it’s like I’ve suddenly boiled over and I feel myself explode. “I like Jason. I had plans with him before I said anything to you, but I didn’t break this off because of a fling, even if that’s all he and I end up being.” Saying that I didn’t “break this off” makes me feel strange, simply because I don’t know if either of us truly understands what it is I broke off. “Because of me, you’re going through the motions. And you’re just starting your family. If you’re struggling now, think of how you’ll feel when things get _bad_ , David. If you’re going to marry Georgia… You need to really _be_ with her. You need to get used to that life. Fucking me on dressing room couches and against walls is not going to be beneficial.”

                “Why won’t you let me decide for myself what’s good for me?” He grabs my arms and pulls me against him; his lips come close to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. “I’m a big boy. I can make my choices.”

                “And I can make mine.” I wrench myself away. “I don’t want you anymore.”

                The words feel like poison when they fall off my tongue. David certainly reacts like they are. He backs out of the room, and his eyes… God, his eyes say everything. He looks close to tears. “Oh.”

                “I’m tired, David. Just… Please. Go home to Georgia.”

                I cry myself to sleep that night. At least he believes me. Now I just have to convince myself.

                He drops it after that. We exchange our pleasantries every day, grin widely during curtain calls and kiss on stage for just as long as is appropriate. Sometimes, I almost forget that anything even happened. Until I see him watching me, eyes boring into my soul as though he expects to find something hiding there.

                Which is rather presumptuous of him. Surely he realizes that he’s not going to see anything that easily.

                Eventually, we reach a point where he and I can talk backstage. And he tells me about Georgia and Olive and I tell him about Jason and we both pretend that the stories don’t make us want to throw something.

                David doesn’t come to my dressing room. Some nights, I see him come into the theatre and can tell that he wants to run from something; I always kind of wish he would, wish that he’d follow me from the stage door and pull me into some alcove, beg me to reconsider.

                He never does. For not being a gentleman, David sure is a gentleman.

                I see September coming closer and closer, and don’t know quite what I’ll do once it’s arrived. When this show ends… Well, I stop myself from thinking about what exactly I’ll do when it’s over, because honestly I have no idea.

                And then it’s here. Our last week goes in the blink of an eye and it’s suddenly closing night.

                My last night kissing David. My last night to play a woman falling in love with a man that I conveniently love anyway.

                When the time comes, I throw everything into that kiss. In those moments, I let down every wall, and reveal all of my pain and frustration and if he can’t tell that I’m in love with him, he’s even more oblivious than I thought.

                David is supposed to look slightly stunned when I pull away, but that’s nothing compared to his face. He looks like I’ve just punched him in the gut repeatedly. Which I did, I suppose, in a way.

                Tonight, I expect him to come by after we finish at the stage door. In fact, when he arrives at my door it’s open, and I’m sitting on my sofa facing him. “Hi David; thought you might be here.”

                “What are you playing at?” Jesus Christ, he actually sounds near tears. His face is expressionless, but after so long I can tell when David wants to cry and he’s nearing that point. “Do you find it funny to toy with my emotions?”

                “I’m not toying with your emotions—“

                “Right, right, of course not. And now it’s your turn for an excuse, I suppose? Okay, you better make it a good one.”

                “I’m not toying with your emotions. I’m toying with mine.”

                For a few seconds, David stares at me, entirely bemused. Then he steps inside, closing the door behind him. “What does that even _mean_? You keep saying things that make no sense. Why did you kiss me like that tonight? You go and tell me that you don’t want me, and then you snog me in front of all those people like…”

                Like I wanted to throw him to the floor and shag him right there?

                Because that was how it was intended, at least.

                I watch him step away from the door. Instead of coming over to me, though, he sits in the chair at my make-up table. “I just want to know what the fuck is going through your head.”

                So do I, actually, because I’m having so much trouble figuring out what I’m thinking that I don’t know why I’m expecting David to keep up with me.

                “You said that you should be able to make your own choices, and I agree with you. But I… I don’t want to be the reason a marriage fails before it even has a chance. And that’s me making a choice. Years from now, I don’t want to see you unhappy, because I will wholeheartedly believe that I’m responsible.”

                “No…” His expression softens. “Why would you say that? You didn’t ask me to…”

                “To what?” I whisper.

                At this moment, he can get up and leave. We have a party to go to, and most likely we both should be getting ready for that. This conversation doesn’t _have_ to reach any sort of anything. But I watch him bracing himself. “Jesus, you didn’t ask me to fall in love with you. How could that be your fault? _Neither_ of us can help that.”

                Love. Love? Did he really say love?

                Yes, David loves me.

                I cough awkwardly because the only alternative would be some sort of mangled scream because _dear God_ he just told me he’s in love with me. And because I need to re-focus; my point had a destination that it now seems to be lacking. “So I was all ready to just disregard you because I don’t want that. But…”

                “But?” Suddenly he looks hopeful. I love it when David looks hopeful.

                And really, how could I possibly disappoint hopeful David? “But I suppose it’s like you said: when you love someone, you can’t really help it.”

                “Do my ears deceive me, or did you just say ‘love’?”

                “I did. But I have more to say on the matter.”

                He’d been in the middle of standing up to come over to me, but he lowers himself back into the chair. “Why does that sound ominous?”

                “It’s not.”

                “Catherine, if I love you and you love me, what more is there to say?”

                That almost _is_ enough for me. With the way he’s looking at me… He’s so horribly tempting. I’ve spent so long thinking about this, though, that I need to make sure he understands. “You’ve been coming to me to escape.”

                “Yes.”

                “No more. Stop that.” His eyes widen. “If and when you show up at my door, I want it to be to see me, not to hide from her.” David nods his agreement and opens his mouth to say something, but I silence him with a look. “And…” I stand up, take a few steps toward him. “Every time you have a problem, think of Olive and work through it.”

                “Okay…” he whispers.

                I walk closer; a few paces could close the distance. “Most importantly, David?”

                He swallows visibly. “Yes?”

                “Go home with Georgia tonight after the party. No matter what.”

                “Uh, what relevance does that have?”

                I step forward more. “Promise me, David?”

                Because if he doesn’t go home tonight, I feel skeptical that he’ll be able to keep his other promises. And then it will all be my fault and I don’t want it to be my fault. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if it was my fault.

                “Promise. Cross my heart.”

                Now what? That’s what he wants to say; I can see it in his eyes as he gazes up at me. But he seems stunned into silence. Do I do that to him? Do I really render him speechless?

                If he can’t speak, I suppose I’ll just have to communicate without speaking too. 


End file.
